23. Fits and Starts

I returned to work just over a week ago. I was very cautious with myself in the morning leading up to my first shift back in 3 weeks, and not just because I returned 3 weeks to the day of the miscarriage. It was hard to know how I was going to feel when I woke up in the morning, how I’d feel as the morning went on, and how it would feel to step into the office for my late shift at around lunchtime.

I was exceedingly prepared for things to go wrong. 8 days before my return to work, I also opted to casually drop into the office. It would be a short, low-pressure visit, the entire purpose of which was to confront the drive alone back to the office, that first step back into the space, and seeing my colleagues. Maybe this was why my first day back at work properly went really well - I didn’t have to face all of that plus actually do the job, because I’d already done them. Or maybe it’s because I was coming back to a very supportive team who know me extremely well. Probably both.

So, overall, the healing process seems to be ticking along nicely. Most days I feel pretty settled, and I can laugh and joke like I’ve always done. I take these as good signs. It’s not uncommon for me to have a string of “good” days and then hit this very painful wall where the grief feels fresh and new again, knocking me sideways for a little bit. This is normal, and it’s been nice to hear from others who have been through a similar experience that it was how things went for them, too. I do believe part of why those “bad” days are decreasing in their frequency is because when they do come, I don’t try to fight them off or minimise them. I acknowledge them as love and as part of the healing process, which means feeling what I’m feeling to its fullest extent. I am, after all, going to be fine no matter how awful everything feels at the time.

It has also helped to be very gentle and patient with myself. I don’t generally notice baby ads on TV (usually because I’m on my phone during ad breaks), but if I do notice, I acknowledge that I’ve noticed them for a reason and just change the channel. I don’t force myself to watch or sit through them, because there’s a clear reason why I clocked it in the first place. It’s kinda like my peripheral attention’s way of keeping me safe. Plus, TV ads are totally avoidable triggers. I face plenty of unavoidable ones in the course of a given day, so why add more that aren’t actually necessary for me to confront?

It’s similar with other things, like seeing someone pushing the same type of pram that I was originally planning on getting for our baby. About 90% of the time, I don’t even really notice. 5% of the time, I notice, but it doesn’t bother me. And that leftover 5% of the time? I notice, and maybe I feel that little tug on my heart. In these situations, I try not to berate myself and just divert my attention away from the pram, remembering that I’m just protecting myself. And, because I’m me, I focus on the fact that this only happens 5% of the time.

I have more or less avoided seeing or interacting with friends whom I know share the same original due date that I had. I don’t actually know if it will be painful to see them, but it seems logical that it could be and, more importantly, I don’t really want to find out for sure just yet. I will talk to these friends again eventually, but only when I’m ready. I make no apologies for how long that might take, either, and I just trust that they understand.

22. Interludes

I’m accustomed to being an organizer and a planner. It’s a role I enjoy across many of my groups of friends, mainly because I tend to be reasonably assertive and also don’t tend to take it personally if plans fall through. This is also the case for my group of nerd friends, who congregate once a year at PAX in Melbourne. We don’t necessarily plan out every gathering within the group, but we tend to steer things each day and let folks come and go as it suits them. This year,  I had been a bit apprehensive about going to PAX at all, as I wasn’t sure how we would cope with going on holiday so soon after the miscarriage. We hadn’t committed to too much time at PAX itself and decided to see how we went; we’d feel worse bailing on pre-made plans, after all.

Overall, I’m glad we went. At first I found it very difficult to deal with open-ended or open-invitation events; I needed predictability as my brain got used to the idea of being on holiday. But because of the wonderful people we usually see and spend time with at PAX, this eased up and we ended up going to PAX proper for all 3 days. I was still a bit reticent about organising group events, but I did become more comfortable with last-minute, spontaneous events by the second day. In some ways, I was surprised at how much I was enjoying myself. The multiple sources of distraction ended up being far more helpful than overwhelming 

That’s not to say it wasn’t hard, though. I found myself hitting my decision-making limits far more quickly than usual, and I had basically no tolerance for stupidity or incompetence. When things went wrong, We both fell apart more quickly than normal. With this year being one of the more poorly run PAX events I’ve been to, Blake and I missed out on more events or activities (panels, booth stuff, etc) than usual, and the disappointment of missing out but us much harder. This was rough, especially for Blake; he’s fine when he has things to do that he enjoys, but looking forward to several things only to have none of them pan out took its toll.

We needed a couple of time-outs from PAX to just sit together and comfort one another. It was hard to pull ourselves together to try to do something else, lest that also fall through and result in even more disappointment. Emotional first aid was administered as necessary, and to both our credits, we didn’t stay down long and opened ourselves up to trying again. We came up with safer options with our understanding friends and these 100% paid off. 

Good food, good coffee, and tram rides that Pokémon Go registered as walking helped. Melbourne is excellent and reliable like that.  

I felt a bit weird posting selfies of us smiling at the camera, but in the end felt that doing so reminded me that we could still have fun. We could still smile. We don’t have to be sad all the time, and there is nothing wrong with finding a little bit of fun and laughter when it comes along.  

21. The Limits of Optimism

As if the loss of the baby wasn’t enough, now I have to worry about the possible implications for my physical health. I remain grateful to the baby that the miscarriage left me with no significant physical problems. I didn’t need surgery and I didn’t need to stay in hospital another night.

Now, I have to wait about 2 weeks to talk to specialists in an effort to find out if there is something else wrong.

I don’t actually know a lot. The chances are low that something could be wrong that could affect my ability to have biological kids in the future. But what keeps popping into my head is that the chances of something being wrong with my pregnancy were also supposed to be low.

“There’s a chance something could be wrong, but it’s small so it’s probably nothing.” 2 weeks and 1 day ago I would’ve believed it and held onto it like a totem. But now? Now I think I’m confronting the lasting mental impact that the miscarriage will have on me, which is whittling down my previously boundless optimism. What used to be “everything’s going to be okay” is now “it’s probably not going to be okay.” Or, more accurately, “everything’s going to be okay, but probably not in the way you’re hoping.”

I was doing so well and feeling like I was just coming up for air, and now I will have to acknowledge the possibility (however remote) that my actual ability to have biological children is compromised. The wait for that specialist appointment is really going to suck. I have things to do and ways to keep it out of my head, but right now it feels like if I ever stop doing things that this worry shoots right back in there.

Luckily, I’m about to head on a brief trip away and into the nerd bubble, so I will have no shortage of things to do for the next few days! 

20. Old Habits

I remember constantly rubbing my hands on my belly, envisioning that my belly was going to get bigger as the pregnancy went on. Sometimes it was subconscious, where I wouldn’t notice I was doing it until I’d already been doing it for a while. That motion became associated with reassurance, with calm. Whenever I felt worried about anything, pregnancy related or not, a gentle rub on my belly seemed to put everything in perspective.

I caught myself doing it a few days ago, and when I realized I was doing it, I burst into tears. My belly isn’t bigger, it’s smaller. I never got to rub my hands over my huge pregnant belly. Where it held life and hope just weeks ago, it’s now empty. An apt, physical representation of my emotional state, hey? No amount of soothing, ritualized rubbing of my hands over my belly changes the fact that instead of a way to feel close to my baby, the motion is now just a gassy lady rubbing her midsection.

The reminder that there is nothing in my belly right now can hit pretty hard. Sometimes a deep breath gets me through it, but other times it’s tears. I suspect this is normal and it will ease over time. But boy, it sucks.

Since I noticed myself doing this, I’ve tried to change what goes through my mind when I do. Instead of focusing just on the emptiness, I try to tell myself that I at least got to enjoy being pregnant for a little while, that my belly did hold someone precious and wanted and already loved. That my belly will again hold someone precious and wanted and loved when we are ready, but that doesn’t mean that this baby would ever be forgotten. 

I try to remind myself that my belly may be empty but my heart is not. The grief I feel? That’s not emptiness, that’s love. I remember telling Blake earlier this year, well before the pregnancy, that I was happy and content, which is actually how I decided I was ready to try for a baby.

One day when I was 6 weeks pregnant, I was sitting on the couch next to Blake, reading one of my pregnancy books. I remember stopping and saying something along the lines of “No matter what happens next, I just want to make sure we remember how happy I am in this moment right now. I have you and Bodhi, we’re married, we have fulfilling careers, and we made it through some tough financial times together and it made us stronger as a couple. Now we are expecting a kid and right this minute, my life is pretty fucking perfect.”

I remember saying those things because we were still in that first trimester “danger zone” where the risks of miscarriage were higher. I was preparing myself mentally for possibly losing the baby during those early stages, and it helped to remember that even if we did lose the baby then, that I was happy to just enjoy the excitement of expecting. I’m aware, always, that things can change on a dime - my parents taught me to never take anything for granted. So right then, as I said what I said in that snapshot of my life, I was genuinely happy. Plenty of people don’t get those moments, and it felt important to me to take a beat and pay attention when I noticed it. As they say, every minute you spend waiting on the next thing is a minute spent missing the here and now.

Thanks, past Viv, for doing that and for taking care of me now. That mindful moment has turned out to be a bit of a talisman when I find myself in dark places these days. It reminds me that I was a full and whole person before I fell pregnant, and that I am still a full and whole person today. The love I had for this baby isn’t gone, it’s just playing out as grief right now. I am neither broken nor empty.

I was raised to be grateful and appreciative of what I have, rather than measure my value based on what I don’t. Even with this loss comes the knowledge that I will be okay. I am many things other than a woman who has lost her baby. This tragedy may become a part of me, but it doesn’t come close to being the thing that defines me.

For fuck’s sake, I can’t even respond to the question “where are you from?” with a single answer.

No one thing defines me.

19. Small Steps

Yesterday and today were legitimately good days. I think we’ve reached the point where we have heard everything we are going to hear, and it’s up to us to hang onto the things that have been helpful. And we have heard many helpful things, as we have been so fortunate to have such an amazing support system around us. I still plan for us to attend a support group next month, but apart from that I feel like somehow things are more settled.

That doesn’t mean I don’t still cry, or that some simple things don’t still take more effort than they used to. But it doesn’t feel overwhelming anymore. When the tears come, they don’t last long. They aren’t as painful as they were, and in my head I know that it’s coming from a place of love and acceptance of what has happened.

I’m able to spend more and more time by myself. Last week I had more visitors, which was awesome because it was good to have folks to talk to and also engage in distracting activities. This week I’ve deliberately dropped that off to practice being alone, which feels manageable and a bit like progress.

I also faced one of my bigger worries: returning to work. It wasn’t just being in the office again (though that was a huge part of it, too) that was the challenge. It was the drive in and back by myself. It was seeing most of my coworkers for the first time since everything happened. I worried also about having taken so much time off so suddenly and then just rocking up. I planned to just pop in and pick up a few things, but it didn’t mean that there wasn’t the potential for awkwardness.

And I have to say, it actually felt weirdly great to be there.

The hugs were a bit longer than usual, but it did feel like sliding back into a comfortable space. My colleagues know me well and we are a great, mutually supportive team. I do highly recommend going through life’s bullshit while on a team of passionate and skilled mental health clinicians. Folks just already know what to say and (perhaps more importantly) what not to say.

So yeah, it felt like a milestone. Not the biggest one and not the type of milestone I was previously looking forward to, but I got shit done. I definitely feel better about returning to work next week and I reckon I’m beginning to come to terms with what our new normal looks like now. One step at a time, one day at a time. 

18. High Hopes

I am not a big believer in good luck. I don’t gamble on any chance-based game. Part of that’s the control freak in me while another part of that is a perpetual fear of disappointment... especially if my hopes are already high. I may not believe in your typical Western or Chinese superstitions but I do believe in jinxes. Right up until the day we signed on the dotted line, I kept saying “IF Blake and I get married” instead of WHEN. I take very little for granted. I never, ever believe anything is a given until it happens, because you can’t be disappointed if you were never truly excited.

It was the same case when we turned out to be extremely lucky in trying for a baby. We only started trying this year. I couldn’t believe our luck. I had actually “planned” for it take about 2 years for us to fall pregnant, for no reason other than it was easier not to have high hopes. I had it all worked out: we’d try for 6 months then add on regular ovulation testing. If that didn’t work after another 6 months then we’d go in for fertility testing. I had already partially budgeted for IVF and was continuing to set money aside so that after the first year, we’d have the cash. I was fully expecting us to need all this, because I wanted to be prepared. I never expected that we’d be the lucky ones, and thus my excitement around the pregnancy was heavily tempered from the start.

When I first told my parents about the pregnancy, in the same breath I was clear that it was early days and anything could happen. I didn’t even tell my own sister at first. Both sets of parents were under strict gag orders until we gave them the go-ahead to tell people. I refused to talk about it at work because I was petrified that I was going to miscarry, because no one is this fucking lucky.

Everything hung on the results of our combined test: the 12-week ultrasound and the accompanying blood test. (I opted not to do the harmony test unless the combined test came back as high risk.) On the 3rd of September, the doctor confirmed we had a low-risk result.

The relief and excitement that followed was exhilarating. It was like the bursting of a very full dam. I immediately went and bought some baby socks and a baby blanket as a conduit for some of my very high energy. I texted both sets of parents to tell them that they could tell whoever they wanted. I gave myself permission to be excited. I booked pregnancy yoga classes. I booked in a day for us to try out a pram I had my eye on. I got a membership to our nearby baby stuff store. I bought maternity clothes. After all, everything was okay!

What a fucking trap that turned out to be, hey?

Pregnant women are told that the risk of miscarriage drops off significantly after the first trimester, to the tune of less than 0.5%. For the vast majority, this is supposed to be a reassuring, “safe” time. The second trimester is the “good” trimester for most pregnant women! I thought I was one of those women... I was supposed to be one of those women.

I was so careful not to allow my hopes to climb until everything was supposed to be all right. And not long after I allowed myself to get my hopes up, just as we both got used to the idea of being excited, it was taken from us. It just feels so fucking unfair. I’m not sure I will ever allow that excitement to sink in again, not even with future pregnancies.

We were really lucky to be able to get pregnant so quickly. I remain grateful for that, at least. Many couples try for years and this type of loss is even harder as a result. So yes. Lucky. As a word, “lucky” usually refers to an outcome that is either perceived or understood as unlikely.

Are we still “lucky” if we also happened to fall into the 0.5%?

17. The Importance of Handover

It was hard telling people on the first day. Neither Blake nor I could get the words out without breaking into tears. We talked about telling no one but that wasn’t acceptable either; so many friends and family were excited for us that they had to be told. We also didn’t want anyone to innocently ask us how the baby was, because we didn’t want to be confronted with repeating the story in the spot, nor did we want to put someone in a position where they felt awful for asking.  But we weren’t ready to announce anything on FB; it felt weird to do that before I left hospital. At the time, we weren’t sure when we would make such a post anyway.

It got to the point where we just had to ask for help. There were some people we knew we wanted to know first. Blake, his sister, and I more or less told a few people via an assortment of messenger apps. We asked those that could to please spread the news to others in each of our friendship groups. It would spare us the pain of telling people while making sure our news was known. Blake bore the brunt of this job, because I was too scared to get on the phone again after speaking to my family.

I remember when I was apologizing to a friend for tasking them with such an awful thing. It was helpful to us, I told myself, but also painful for them, except that maybe they could feel useful. I knew that’d help me were I in their position. But I actually wondered if I could quickly organize a phone tree that got texted out to the larger groups, that way everyone only had to tell 2 people. Share the load, you know?

It hadn’t even hit lunchtime after the miscarriage and somehow that thought made my tired heart smile. In a crisis, I still think about organizing people. It felt weirdly in-character for me and it was kind of reassuring.  (I didn’t actually do up a full phone tree because I was too tired, but I did start mapping out the first few layers in my head.)

There were some people we didn’t tell on the day, simply because for certain friendship groups, we couldn’t just message them and instead would have to call up and tell them specifically. And we were too tired past a certain point to do that.

By the time we got home, we decided we would post on FB within a few days, so we knew everyone else who knew would be told that way. We spent the next day composing our announcement, and if you’re here, you’ve seen it.

With all the care we took in sharing our bad news, I made the mistake of thinking that the hospital would take care of disseminating the news of the miscarriage to my primary healthcare provider (my GP). While I was in hospital, I even called my GP office to cancel my pre-arranged antenatal appointments and, while doing so, asked the receptionist to please inform my GP about the miscarriage. They agreed to do so.

So, I turned up at the GP exactly a week after the miscarriage to get a physical checkup. I was already struggling with the day and with returning to the GP clinic for the first time since my last appointment, which had been about how well my pregnancy seemed to be progressing. Thankfully, Blake was with me.

The GP had no idea I’d lost the baby. Neither the receptionist nor the hospital had notified her. There was no discharge summary from the hospital, no message from the administrative staff. And so I was suddenly caught completely off-guard, having to tell the whole story out loud for the first time.

I was a mess. I would’ve been worse if Blake hadn’t been there. He was upset that I was put in such a position and the GP was visibly distraught as well. I think she was both sad for my loss and sad that she had inadvertently asked me to go through everything again. It was the exact situation we’d been trying to prevent from happening, for our own sakes.

It took me the better part of the morning to calm back down. Once I’d managed it, the anger settled in. After all the painstaking efforts we went through to keep us from being put in such an awful spot, it was in fact the healthcare system that let us down. The handing over of care is part of their actual job (I know, because I work for a team that is very good at handover), and someone somewhere along the line fucked up.

I hadn’t yet given feedback to the hospital because it still felt too soon. What a pity, I say to myself sarcastically. Because now, in addition to the Trashbag Sonographer, you better believe I’m going to let them fucking have it. 

16. About Control

The instant you realize you are pregnant, you are flooded with advice and information about the things you should now do to look after yourself and the baby. It is basically an avalanche of shit big and small. Don’t drink, don’t smoke, relax, exercise (but not too hard), see your doctor regularly, gain weight (but too much weight), don’t take certain meds, don’t sleep in certain positions, eat better than you ever have in your life, avoid certain foods, limit caffeine intake, don’t wear bras with underwire, etc etc etc.

When it comes from books, this advice is usually presented in a “risk reducing” way. For example, there is no way to verify how much alcohol intake is safe for the baby, and this the best advice given is to just avoid it all together. Caffeine has been linked to some things like low birth weight, and while abstaining or even reducing it doesn’t mean you will definitely have a healthy baby, abstaining or limiting your intake should reduce the risks thereof. Bagged, pre-prepared salads are probably fine most of the time, but there is a slightly higher risk of listeria than in non-bagged salads so it’s best to avoid it to reduce your risk of listeriosis.

And then, when something like pregnancy loss happens, you are told it’s not your fault and you had no control. Nothing you did could have caused it and there was nothing you could have done to prevent it.

How am I supposed to readily accept that message when it feels like it’s a direct contradiction to all the fucking information I got when I was still pregnant? Do all these things so that bad things don’t happen, but when bad things happen, it’s not your fault? How couldn’t it be my fault?

I think this is why I keep coming back to that guilt. I think it’s why lots of women in my position struggle with accepting that it’s not our fault. Pregnant women are overloaded with an almost ceaseless list of do’s and don’ts. Some of the things on the list even contradict each other - how are you supposed to “stay calm and relax” when you have this huge fucking list of things that you also have to do? It’s not hard to see how the need to follow all that advice conflates with a sense of control.

I have to remind myself constantly that all of that previous advice was not assurance that all would be well. All pregnancies by nature carry an inherent level of risk that is based on many factors outside my scope of control. The advice given to pregnant women are just ways to prevent that pre-existing risk from increasing significantly, not all of which are rooted in solid evidence, either. They do very little, if anything, to actively reduce any pre-existing, inherent risk.

So no, that time I banged my kneecap into a coffee table corner and wailed like a banshee about it did not cause the miscarriage. That day I had one coffee at work did not cause the miscarriage. I have to just listen when I am told that I did everything right while I was pregnant - even as I type that a tiny voice in my brain is all like BUT DID YOU? - and nothing I did caused this to happen.

It isn’t my fault. I am not to blame. That I keep thinking that it’s my fault is a result of our natural human impulse to seek a reason or cause for why something has happened. I will have to bear in mind that we don’t always get our questions answered, and I will just have to get comfortable in this uncomfortable space.

15. Nerds

Some of our quality time together has been spent sitting side by side in our games room, working on our Ultimate Millennium Falcon LEGO set. I really enjoy those blocks of time (pun 100% intended), simply because it’s us quietly working together on something we both love. If you’ve ever see us play board games against each other, then you know that working cooperatively isn’t always how we do. This LEGO project absolutely helps us feel more connected (HAH!) and in sync, which is such a boon to our marriage. Blake and I both also have new video games to play that serve as handy distractions when needed.  Sinking ourselves into the things we enjoy both individually and together has been a tremendous help.

We also have a trip to Melbourne planned at the end of the month. It is our annual trip over for PAX Australia, a convention dedicated to gaming of all kinds (computer, video, tabletop, arcade, retro). I look forward to it each year primarily because of the group of friends that we hang out with while there. It’s like this comfortable, gooey little nerd bubble where everyone knows the score. There is no in-joke too nerdy, no reference too obscure. Every single one of my nerdy t-shirts that escapes my coworkers’ notice is understood, with knowing nods exchanged between strangers.

Picture a crowded tram full of convention attendees singing the Tetris theme song every time someone new gets on the tram to the Convention Centre. Yeah. It’s like that.

I was looking forward to showing off my belly bump while there, seeing friends we only see once a year and also catching up with some familiar faces from overseas as well. I was going to spend most of my time at the tabletop/board game area, where I can just sit and play an assortment of games with my friends. It was going to be my job to hold the table as home base while Blake and our mates roamed the con, since I was pregnant and thus a little less mobile by then.

It was supposed to be like that, anyway.

Three days ago, we made the decision to go to Melbourne as planned. Time away together was going to be helpful. We could always decide not to spend too much time at PAX proper, but instead just enjoy Melbourne together. We could pop back into the con and see our friends when we felt able, or retreat to just us if we needed. We do love the city, after all, and there will be plenty we can do.

I also go back to work after we return from Melbourne. That’s the plan at the moment, anyway. I’m not holding myself to that and intend to just see how I go. Either way, heading back to work after a short getaway seems like a good idea. I mean, I’ve already slotted in my preferred breakfast options for 2 of the 4 days we are in town, and we do love a good feed! It can be just the two of us, or it can be more of us if that’s not enough. Either way, it’ll be good for us and I can’t wait.

14. Milestones

Friday, the 19th of October, is going to be a hard day. That was when we were due to have our anatomy scan, which is the ultrasound that confirms everything is okay and can tell us the sex of our baby.

I didn’t actually think about it until just now, when I was planning my week. The realization hit like a freight train. It is the first “milestone” moment that we will reach since the miscarriage... something that we were both looking forward to and had bookmarked in our diaries before we lost the baby.

There are going to be a few more, too, big and small. This Saturday, we were going to go to a demo day to check out a fancy pram. Next Tuesday was to be my first antenatal appointment at the our local hospital. My family was due in December to celebrate Christmas and to help us set up the nursery and do some baby-stuff shopping. I was going to start maternity leave in February.

And then of course, there’s the 10th of March. That is going to suck, no two ways about it. I think even if we feel mostly recovered by then - even if we are somehow pregnant again by then - it’s going to knock us sideways.

I recognize even now that it could be worse. We could have been even farther along, with the nursery all set up and everything ready to go. I have no idea how parents who have lost their babies at those even later stages must feel. It’s not exactly a comfort, though.

It’s just a bit rough to know that we can actually do quite well, but that there are still going to be things that will always make us need to pause and take a deep breath. We know we will be keeping this baby in our hearts forever. That means having this sadness quietly sit next to us most of the time, then on those significant dates, just allow it to give us that silent, powerful hug.

13. Comfort Food

Most folks already know that my favorite food in the world is raw fish. In fact, most meats that have a raw or rare option tend towards the higher spots on my “preferred food” list. So of course when I fell pregnant, it was pretty tough giving those things up.

I complained constantly about it, because I never developed any distaste for raw fish the entire time I was pregnant. I debated constantly about the actual benefits vs the actual risks to anyone foolish enough to let me talk about it. I never did, for the record, have any of the stuff while pregnant. The risks weren’t worth it. But I did reserve the right to complain about it.

One of the aspects of my birth plan was to have raw oysters and sashimi for my first meal after the baby arrived. A glass of bubbles, too (specifically, the champagne Blake and I had at our wedding, courtesy of my uncle and a French boutique champagne-maker). It was all planned out. It was going to be amazing holding my baby while enjoying some of my favorite foods.

Since the miscarriage, the mere thought of eating raw fish makes me burst into tears. I can’t bring myself to eat it. I love the stuff, but it also feels wrong to enjoy something that I wasn’t supposed to be able to eat until next year. It feels like it would be a betrayal to the baby’s memory to not only eat it, but to enjoy it. I mean, if I really missed the baby, if I was really sad, then I wouldn’t (shouldn’t) enjoy it. Right?

The irony is that food has a very significant place in my life. It’s how I was raised. Good food is to be enjoyed, bringing a smile to your actual soul. Nostalgic foods bring you back to another time, to memories, people you love, and places you’ve been. Food is love.

So even though having a food I enjoy would certainly be a huge comfort, sashimi (and the like) specifically takes me back to a place before I was pregnant. I’m not ready for that. Maybe I will be again soon, but it’s honestly not a high priority right now. It might be worth simply sitting with this particular conflict for the time being, as a way to validate my grief.

12. A Rock and a Hard Place

Some days are better than others.

I remember feeling okay on Thursday. There were a couple of breakdowns, but I was pretty calm otherwise. To be fair, I didn’t leave the house at all, but I still I worried that I was feeling too “good” too soon. Wasn’t I supposed to grieve and mourn harder? If I was really sad, shouldn’t I be in bed, unable to eat, unable to enjoy or do anything? Did being able to function this soon mean I was avoiding or repressing something?

Are we working through this the “right” way?

Then Friday happened. It was rough. I was grumpy, irritable and on the verge of tears for most of the day. My first solo walk with Bodhi since returning home was interrupted by rain, too. Blake had to pop into work for a couple of hours and while he offered not to go due to the state I was in, I insisted that he go because I think I would’ve felt worse otherwise. I just made sure I knew what time he was due home. I managed by talking to my sister and doing some writing. That evening, I pushed myself to go to a quiz night because having the quiz to focus on was likely to be a good distraction. It was our first outing with friends, so for me it felt like I was making progress. It was nearby and with a small group of friends, none of whom ask silly questions or say silly things. And we happened to win. So, that helped. After we got home, Blake sat me down and we ran through what was and wasn’t helpful in getting me through the quiz night. That was a huge help and I love the shit out of my husband.

Saturday was better again. I managed 4 outings, all with just Blake. Some retail therapy, then a dog park, then a brand new place for dinner (that felt like a huge step, actually), and then a movie. I felt pretty settled during our outings, then really tired at the end of the day... and then, as I tried to fall asleep, suuuuuper guilty.

So on days that suck, I feel bad because they suck. And then on days that don’t suck, I feel bad because they don’t suck. When I’m feeling calmer and have a break from crying, I chastise myself for not crying, because surely that means I’m not grieving properly. How can I have a mostly fine, mostly “normal” day less than a week after the miscarriage?!

And if I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about Blake. I worry that Blake is due back at work a week after the miscarriage... not because I need him home with me, but because I worry that he’s pushing himself too hard to go back. Is he actually coping well, or is he putting on a stoic face for my sake? (Blake is fully aware of all this and we’ve talked about it, just for the record. My brain is just really stupid sometimes.)

Like, I actually need to give myself a fucking break.

So, let’s work on that. Okay. I think I’m able to feel okay sometimes because I’m not at work. I also haven’t had to think about food since coming home; there is always something to eat when I need it, thanks to amazing family and friends. There is basically no pressure on me coming from anywhere (except myself). There is nothing I have to do and I have no one to answer to. This gives me plenty of room to process my grief rather than have to push it away. I can cry literally whenever I need to and bail on an outing if I want. I don’t have to worry about being a professional or polite or even marginally functional. Yeah, so, with all that in mind, of COURSE there are days where I feel okay! This it what it means when we say having good supports is good for healing!

Having Blake go back to work first also makes sense. He does better when he feels productive and work will be a good distraction as well. While he’s at work, I can practice looking after myself solo and ensure I have the capacity to care for him after he goes through a full day of work. There are going to be things we can’t predict that might pop up for him during the day, and so me being home to support him at the end of the day can help him adjust. That will allow him to go back without worrying so much about me, and then the focus can be on what he needs to go back to full-time work. After that, we’ll worry about my own return to work.

Some days are better than others, and that’s okay. Some days are worse than others, and that’s okay, too.

11. Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day

Today is International Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. It is actually recognized in both NSW and WA here in Australia, with efforts in progress to have it recognized nationally. There are lots of ways to observe the day, apparently, with the main one being lighting a candle for 1 hour from 7:00 pm local time.

Given its proximity to the day we lost our baby, it felt a little fitting to do a few meaningful things to observe the day.

For example, I repotted every potted plant we own. I’d actually wanted to do this a few months ago but was advised to avoid doing this while pregnant, given some of the nasties that can pop up in good quality potting mix. So it seemed appropriate to do it today as a healing exercise. I’m no gardener but I pruned them to the best of my ability... maybe even a bit over-zealously, but it was just part of my ritual today. Plans are also in motion for me to pick up more indoor plants in coming days, so I’ve got a small, achievable project to focus on for the time being.

My mother-in-law also bought us a rose plant to help commemorate the loss. It’s outside in its tiny plastic pot, ready to grow into the huge one that came with it.

And then, today, with Blake’s help, I bought an orchid.

View fullsize

Seriously, this phone takes amazing fucking photos.

I wanted something pretty and purple (somehow, purple ended up being my color of choice to represent our loss) - it’s way purpler in real life than it looks in the photo. I’ve read up on orchid care and I’m determined to look after it properly. It’s definitely pretty and isn’t at a huge intimidating size, so I’m happy with my choice.

Currently it sits on our kitchen countertop, flanked by flowers we’ve received from friends and family. It’s super cheesy but I love it.

Later this evening we will light our candle at 19:00. We will probably cry a bunch but that’s okay. We won’t be alone.

10. The 0.5%

We felt weird announcing our loss on Facebook. For me, it bordered on self-indulgent, in a “look at us and how sad we are please send your sympathy” sort of way. I didn’t actually think that, but I worried that others might. But because of our pregnancy announcement just a few weeks before, we were left with no choice.

I wondered, as we constructed the post together, how many people had been through the same thing but we’d never known because it’s not the sort of thing you just announce on socials.

The O&G Registrar we saw on Tuesday (the one I liked a lot) said that 1 in 200 pregnancies end in a miscarriage between weeks 14 and 20. That’s a pretty high number, especially when you consider that during your combined test (ultrasound + bloods, done at week 12), a “high risk” result is classed as at least a 1 in 300 chance of something being wrong.

It was both comforting and saddening to hear that 0.5% statistic. On the one hand, we weren’t alone. On the other, it meant that many other families have experienced a pain similar to ours. Your pregnancy is supposed to be “safe”, having made it past the 12-week mark, but then everything changes. I’ve yet to find words that adequately describe that kind of heartache.

No one talks about it, and I believe I understand why. There would be dozens of different reasons for it. For one, how exactly do you bring it up in casual conversation? For another, it’s really hard to talk about, because it’s hard to put the right words together and then hard again to make sure you don’t accidentally invalidate someone else’s individual experience as you clumsily cobble verbiage together. For yet another, you don’t really want to go around repeating one of the most traumatic experiences of your life to just anyone who will listen. There are many other reasons, all legitimate.

It took me a few hours following the miscarriage to open myself up to being comforted. (At first I didn’t think I deserved to be comforted, you see. Trauma is a fucking asshole.) I remembered people in my life who had been through something similar and generously shared their stories with me years ago, all of whom have since found happiness and fulfillment. I held onto them and their stories like a lifeline. It allowed me feel what I was feeling, safe in the knowledge that it will eventually become a part of us and allow us to find our joy again. I knew it was possible, purely because I knew someone had already done it.

I’ve been told I am “brave” and “courageous” both for announcing it on FB as well as sharing parts of my journal with others. While I appreciate the sentiment, it doesn’t really feel like either. It feels like necessity, but with a thread of doubt running throughout - is this (the journal, in particular) even a good idea in the first place? Is this something I *should* be sharing in such an open way?

Well, here’s how I see it. Had others not shared their stories with me, I wouldn’t have had that lifeline after the miscarriage. Plus, not talking about it makes it something shameful, something to be stigmatized. Not talking about it or using euphemisms make it feel dirty or taboo. And since what has happened isn’t any of those things, then fuck it, I’m sharing what I feel comfortable sharing. That doesn’t have to fit for you, but it does for me. I’m not saying I’m going to run around telling it to everyone who asks me how I am, but I won’t shy away sharing my experience, either.

I know others before me have healed, and so I know I will as well. And in knowing I’m going to heal eventually, hopefully that means others may have a lifeline if they need it one day, too.

9. An Open Letter to Facebook

[Language warning.]

Dear Facebook,

I had a late miscarriage less than a week ago (which I also announced on your data-mining platform, btw) and I’m still seeing baby-related ads pop up regularly in my feed.

I know that it’s my own fault for using Facebook, but any platform’s use of targeted advertising is indicative of support for a morally corrupt capitalist system (from which you directly profit). I can handle being given ads targeting more superficial shit like my age, gender, and location, but my health status is another method entirely.

Even worse is when your algorithm takes ages to update that aforementioned health status and propagate more appropriate results. Seriously. If you’re gonna do it, at least do it properly, you miserable carnival of bastards.

Go fuck yourself.

Sorry not sorry,

Viv

8. Unpredictable Stuff Sucks

On the day I was discharged, I remember walking out past the maternity ward on our way out of the hospital. I didn’t realize our route would take us that way, and it caught me off guard.

The day of the miscarriage was exactly 2 weeks before my first antenatal appointment at that same maternity ward. I didn’t realize that until I was walking right past the ward.

There were 2 pregnant women in the waiting area. I didn’t know them. I paused mid-step, eyes wide. I did a quick check internally - was I okay?

I thought I should find that difficult. That I’d be angry or resentful, maybe. That I’d suddenly burst into tears on seeing them. It certainly made logical sense that I could.

No tears. No anger. I kept walking. I’m not sure Blake or my sister-in-law noticed that I’d paused at all. I didn’t feel anything other than exhaustion and some trepidation about going home. Maybe I was simply too tired to react.

In some ways I’m glad I could scratch that possible trigger off my list, at least for now. In others, it felt like maybe I *should* feel like crap when I saw them? Like, if I’m not triggered by them, how sad am I, really?

I do recognize that this is a fairly garbage way to treat myself, but I also make no apologies for how a grief-stricken, emotionally exhausted brain operates. Grief is a highly individual and personal journey, though, and worrying about what it “should” look like is kinda like hitting yourself when you’re already down. I don’t need more reasons to denigrate myself, after all.

I suspect it’s one of those things that changes day to day. Like, on a good day, I’ll probably be fine seeing multiple pregnant women. On a not-so-good day, maybe I can only handle 1 or 2 before reacting in some way. On a bad day, who knows?

We were given the option of going home on the same day that we had lost our baby. I didn’t feel pressured to leave and the doctors were very clear that they were happy to keep me in for a few more days, but medically I was already fine. I umm’d and ahh’d about this for a little while. On the one hand, staying at hospital meant any need that arose would be seen to, with no washing up required. On the other, being at home meant familiar surroundings and (of course) getting to see Bodhi, who was surely very confused at home about the sudden change in routine. But home also contained lots of memories of our excitement, which scared me.

We hadn’t bought many things for the baby yet, but we did have baby books and a few sets of baby clothes. Without my having to ask, Blake had already gone through the house that morning before coming in and stored most of the obvious things away in a back room. He assures me that he was fine doing this on his own, he just didn’t want me to see them. Even so, though, certain things still get missed or forgotten. We both knew that.

I got home and was prepared for a wave of tears that didn’t come. I went into our bedroom and quickly swept up my maternity clothes and other bits of random baby stuff (a tube of belly butter, a “Baby on Board” sign my mother-in-law got us for my birthday, brochures from the Breastfeeding Association) and put them into a box in the back room. I was okay throughout this process, I just wanted to make sure that I put things away when I could, so that future Viv doesn’t get caught off-guard on a bad day.

That done, I opened our fridge to get something to eat. It hit me then. Right there, front and center, were the leftovers from our dinner just before I went to hospital. It was our last meal with the baby.

Some shit, you just don’t see coming.

When the tears stopped, we debated about throwing the food away. I hated the idea of throwing it away but I didn’t want to eat it. Blake said he would throw it out if I wanted that done, but also said he had no problem eating it if that solved the problem. It did. It was also a good reminder that we will find different things confronting as the days go by, and we can help each other through them.

Funny, the things you can learn from day-old Indian food.

7. “I’m Sorry”

CW: minor details of an ultrasound prior to miscarriage, some self-blame, lots of apologizing.

We actually knew the night before it happened that something was very wrong. The doctor in ED told us she wanted to admit me for observation. A bit later, while she did a bedside ultrasound while we were still in ED, the baby was hard to see and not moving. The doctor couldn’t find a heartbeat. She said the machine being used was lo-res and my bladder was empty, so it was 50/50 at that point, and she would refer us for a formal ultrasound the next morning.

(Having met the Trashbag Sonographer, I’m kind of glad it didn’t go down that way.)

I remember apologizing to Blake the second she finished speaking and bursting into tears. My brain kept trying to grab onto her words for the tiny sliver of hope they still offered, while my body knew better. I just kept saying “I’m sorry” to Blake while he held me. I was told I had nothing to apologize for.

I know that now, of course, and I possibly knew that even then. But I remember thinking I’ve let him down. He was so excited to be a dad and I failed him. It was my body, my job. I was tasked with this magical, incredible responsibility and I came up short. The perfectionist in me, the person accustomed to succeeding at most things with only minimum effort... they were shattered, too.

Blake insisted, repeatedly, that it was not my fault. How couldn’t it be, though? My brain was suddenly playing back a “greatest hits” of all my possible mistakes during the pregnancy. How wasn’t it my fault?

If it wasn’t my fault, then it means I had no control. Having no control is unacceptable to me, so I think my brain fought that for a while.

Eventually, slowly, over what felt like an eternity (it was probably just a few minutes), I felt the focus shift from guilt, shame, self-blame to sorrow. My “I’m sorry”s became expressions of condolence rather than an acceptance of responsibility. I was (and am) sorry that Blake isn’t going to be a father just yet. I was (and am) sorry that Blake has already gone through so much this year, that I was piling this on him too.

Remembering his excitement from just a few days before still makes me cry.

He went home to bed (past 01:00) after I was admitted and I tried very hard to sleep but didn’t. I fought against the realization that my body had already made. I recited the doctor’s lines like a mantra, putting my hands on my belly, telling the baby they were desperately wanted, pleading with the universe for everything to somehow be okay.

That gap between accepting the worst and hoping beyond hope is such a weird one. It was like bouncing between the two with each heartbeat, going back and forth, looking for whichever one feels the most tolerable, because that changed constantly. I’m sure there’s a scientific name for this feeling that I’ll eventually learn and add to my lexicon. But it’s like, you don’t want to give up until you know for sure. But it would also be... easier? more validating? to just accept the worst, because then you can’t be disappointed regardless of what happens the next morning.

The miscarriage happened at 05:48. Through it all, I made sure I remembered the time even as my wailing began. My baby would deserve this much, for me to know what time they left me, because there was nothing else I could do. I wasn’t alone at least; a lovely nurse was with me as it happened.

My first words to Blake on the phone when I told him what happened were again an apology. He came straight over. Thank goodness we only live 10 minutes away from the hospital.

I called my mum. Again, “I’m sorry” were the first words I said after telling her what happened. I knew how much she was looking forward to being a grandmother. She assured me that she was just sad for me.

My dad turned 70 this year. I know that he has been very excited to be a grandfather, and I wanted him to be a grandfather at 70, too. He was alone in Beijing, too. I called him, after mum told me she had already spoken to him. I apologized. He told me not to, but in a not-so-rare show of defiance I did it anyway. Like mum, he just wanted me to be okay. By this time we knew it would be unlikely that I’d need surgery, so I did reassure him of that at least.

Living far away from my parents is something I’ve gotten used to. I’ve done it for almost half my life. Some things don’t make that easy, no matter how accustomed you are. I’m still deciding if they should come down and see me.

I was in the shower when my mother-in-law arrived at the hospital. I worried the most about her, as you may recall. She has been through a special kind of hell this year, the details of which I won’t share here, but still marches on like a fucking hero. I knew the baby was a light in the darkness for her. There was a part of me that dreaded facing her.

Blake was hugging her when I got out of the shower. I walked over and just blurted out another “I’m sorry” as I hugged her. I was (and am) sorry that there was now yet another reason for her to cry. I am sorry that now she doesn’t have something amazing and wonderful to look forward to, only more grief and uncertainty.

Blake admitted that “I’m sorry” was the first thing he said to her, too.

English is a bit of a ridiculous language, to be honest. How can an expression of solemn solidarity or condolences be the exact same pair of words as an acceptance of responsibility? And we wonder why people so often end up conflating the two within themselves. Honestly.

Even in my head, I had to remind myself of what I was actually saying when I was saying sorry. At the start, yes, there was a sense of responsibility as I sought to grasp at any strand of control I could find. Later, it became an acknowledgement that I wasn’t the only person to lose someone important, anticipated, and loved. For each “I’m sorry”, it was like reminder for me that I wasn’t alone, that this baby represented so much to all of us. It both comforted and devastated. I’m deeply sorry for our loss.

6. Treat Yo’ Sad Self

Today (13 October, 2018) is Treat Yourself Day 2018. I’ve also been rewatching all of Parks & Rec in an effort to inject some positivity into my brain while not exposing myself to anything new that may have incidental triggers (fuck you, Netflix’s Next Gen). So, spending the day engaging in shameless retail therapy sounded like a great idea when Blake suggested it.

It took me a while to come up with something I wanted that was an actual “treat” and not something practical. I decided on a new pair of wireless, noise-canceling headphones... I need a pair now with my new audio-jackless phone and to replace my old, ugly-ass wired ones, so now seemed as good a time as any. And, while we were wandering the aisles of that nerdy capitalist temple known as JB Hifi, we decided also to get a Nintendo Switch for Blake. We got a sweet deal on the lot, so that was a nice bonus.

That means that for the first time ever, we own 3/3 mainstream same-generation video game consoles. Plus, these headphones are dooooope (Sony WH-1000XM3 in silver, for those curious).

We also stopped at our local pet store for some things for Bodhi. Can’t leave the good boy out!

Unpacking and setting up all our new stuff was a nice, fun distraction. But at the same time, it feels really weird to divert your grief into consumerism. There’s a twinge of guilt around letting yourself even have a little bit of joy at a time like this, let alone having it be about “things” rather than anything more meaningful. But you know what? Fuck it. Not everything we do or say has to be surrounded by some great meaning. It was admittedly nice having a break from that and just enjoy things because we can.

Plus, gift-giving is one of the 5 love languages, so getting something we each wanted for each other was just another way to communicate our mutual love and support.

It helped that we have money allocated into our Rainy Day Fund (which is separate to our Family Planning budget, I feel I should add), and it was actually raining today. Felt like an all-together appropriate thing to do today.

Of note: Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day is on 15 October. I’m not all together sure how I will feel on that day, but I already have some ideas on how we will observe it meaningfully.

5. My New Phone

I upgraded my phone on the day the new iPhones were out, about 3 weeks ago. The timing was fortuitous: just in time for me to use this phone’s amazing camera to make our pregnancy announcement!

This new phone, without sounding like a shill, has an awesome battery life. I upgraded from a 6s so it is a pretty huge step up in power regardless. I also got it partly because of the pregnancy - I wanted to be well-equipped with a nice camera on my phone when the baby arrived. I try to remind myself that I needed a new phone anyway because of the state of my old phone, but sometimes that other thought lingers in the back of my head, like a fly that’s hitched a ride on my ponytail. It hasn’t made me cry yet, but it might do on a bad day in the future.

The day we announced our tragedy on Facebook - in the evening, we decided, so that most folks would be at home when they saw it and not stress at work - my phone nearly ran out of power. The messages, the notifications... they came quickly. Many made me cry, which is okay and just a part of working through our grief. Being reminded of how loved we are let the tears fall safely.

I should make it clear that it is absolutely okay if you didn’t send a message. No one should feel obligated to do so. We knew the announcement may bring up other people’s own grief or fears. We decided to post it anyway because of the original pregnancy announcement made just less than 3 weeks previously.

So when my phone gave me the 10% warning, it made me smile. And a bit tearful. But I did smile. That was nice.